Withholding Judgement
by Thomas Lecter
Summary: Ryou knew all this. But that was years ago, Bakura had smartened up- nothing went on record anymore.  "That was a long time ago," he encouraged, "Bakura not like that. He doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore."


"Do you understand your rights as I have presented them to you?"

Ryou nodded, a prompt for the recording system forcing a quiet, "Yes."

The ten by twelve foot room pinched around the single table and set of chairs. A full length mirror coating the north wall and a single metal door to the right as focal points. The Detective thumbed through paper work, laying each folder strategically on the table before addressing Ryou once more.

"How do you know Mr. Bakura?"

For as long as Ryou had known him, Bakura was always known as simply Bakura- no names added. It seemed even Police resources couldn't crack that nut. Not that Ryou would ever inquire into it.

"We met years back in middle school, 5th grade. Still see each other from time to time, but you know, life..."

The Detective nodded. "Life can creep up on a man. Your engaged correct?" He glanced toward his notes. "Jamie Holland, yes."

There was something about this man, in this room, with what was to come that left him edgy hearing her name spoken. Ryou took a steady sip of water, nodding. The Detective moved on.

"As I'm sure your aware Mr. Bakura had a troublesome juvenal record. Assault, assault with a dangerous weapon- reduced to negligence causing bodily harm, assault on an officer- while incarcerated, joy riding, theft and several other misdemeanors." He didn't need to reference his notes for that.

Ryou knew all this, most before Bakura was formally charged. But that was years ago, Bakura had smartened up- nothing went on record anymore. "That was a long time ago," he encouraged, "Bakura not like that. He doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore."

* * *

Ryou looked around helplessly at the swarm of bodies before him. Hundreds of children ran screaming, calling out to each other in various games of tag, catch and school yard teasing. Recklessly many would scoop up the dripping slosh of melting snow and hurl it at one another.

Ryou pressed his back onto the cold metal fencing behind him. He didn't like getting wet. He didn't like being cold either. More over, he hated this school. Fields of concrete sloped outwards from the stone framed building, decorated in festive gray hues. There were no trees and limited space for private seclusion. Ryou tucked his scarf over his face and scrunched up his frozen toes within his winter boots. If he imagined hard, really really hard, he could slip away from here. Back to the hot dry earth of his hometown and the friends he'd known longer than the stretch of his memories.

A loud whistling screech assaulted his senses, sending the mob of children into a frenzy. Recess was over. Twelves adults filed out of the building, alining the hundreds of students into fourteen wobbly lines. Scanning the thinning herds, the few remaining straggler payed him no mind. The fence groaned under his force and sprung forward urging as he stepped away, taking short, deliberately delayed steps towards the building entrance.

With limited resources available, shuffling feet was his only tool of retaliation. Then, quite literally, an opportunity struck him. Slick, cold snow bit into his ear and slithered under his collar.

"You see that, right between the eyes!", his future classmate bellowed.

Ryou frantically shook the snow free. "You hit me in the ear!"

Mimicking him, the one boy laughed harder at Ryou's furiously glare. Two friends stood close by, the girl encouraging and the boy clearly bored. Making a spectacle of himself, the boy pack a larger snowball, shouting taunts and self praise before chucking it at Ryou.

That same piercing whistle screamed at the children to hurry inside, less the teacher have to walk across the yard after them. A new girl ran up and fetched her friend from the group, rolling her eyes at the whole stupid fight. Lacking an audience, both boys turned in to fallow.

Now Ryou should have let it be. He could have slipped back into his own privet bubble, pretend the now retreating boys had done nothing worth noting, and ride the rest of the day is silent disassociation.

Instead, the hot-blooded tingle of anger fisted his hands around a block of snow...

Ryou took off like a bat out of hell. There was no time to think. The snow had only just struck the back of the boy before he had turned, screaming and wild in a blood seeking sprint towards Ryou. There was precious few means of escape. Neither agile enough to scamper up the fence, nor small enough to dive under, the only two opening lay far out of- hold on. Beyond the basketball courts where townhouses lined the fencing, a group of five or more students stepped seamlessly through the fenced wall. Nearly screamed in excitement he bee-lined to the cluster, not daring to look back.

He wouldn't make it. The cluster of boys perhaps two or more years his elder paused before the fencing breach, blocking his escape. Glancing back, Ryou finally noticed that it was no longer just one boy chasing him. His friend had tagged along several yards back with the look of boredom gone and agitation settling in.

The leading boy, having no jacket and only gloves and a hat resting above the ears to fend off the cold, stepped smartly towards them. Ryou found himself being thrust into the background. A lot happened very quickly. Tongues lashed and fists flew, a far reaching rivalry he would later learn. His former pursuers were out numbered, but only two bodies challenged them in the scrimmage. The leading boy, as he over heard, was named Bakura.

Again Ryou allowed his anxiety to get the better of him. For the moment he was safe, forgotten beside the small audience. He should have waited it out there. Instead, he made a wide turn around the stumbling fighters, hoping to flee for the school.

The unpredictable mash spun off in his direction, toppling Ryou by the ankles. And once again he was apart of it, kicking and punching to get out from under the skirmish. A foot landed a jaw and an elbow to the ribs. Ryou wasn't aware who he'd struck until, gripped by the hair, his head was smashed again and again and again into the frozen earth.

It got blurry. Bakura, he suspected, freed him from the others. Ryou could distantly make out a few jabs, but not him. He couldn't be sure to who. This boy barked something, and suddenly he felt a warm cushion bellow his head. Was he crying? Something slick pooled down the shell of his ear. Everyone stepped back from him, he could see their shadows ringing around his peripheral. All of them, at a loss of direction and staring. They all disappeared, along with everything else.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed that!

This stories looking more promising than my first, my brains flooded with ideas. I appologize to any readers of my other story; there is going to be significant delays.

Constructive comments are welcomed, and flames are not worth any of our time. Save your hate for 90$/h therapists.


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